


Hermione's First Year

by golden_flowers



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Hogwarts, Hogwarts First Year, Hogwarts Letters, Muggle Life, POV Hermione Granger, young hermione granger
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-13
Updated: 2019-01-13
Packaged: 2019-10-09 16:33:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17410358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/golden_flowers/pseuds/golden_flowers
Summary: Hello!This is my first ever fanfic. I've always wondered what the Harry Potter series would be like from Hermione's perspective but I never could find fanfics that really captured what I always imagined, so I wrote my own! I love Hermione because she really is a character that is an imperfect role model to girls and women everywhere (including me).I took some personal liberties in adding details to characters that we either do not know much about (i.e. Hermione's parents) or we do not know certain details about (i.e. Hermione's past). I might add some characters (female) throughout the series to be pals of Hermione that I can fully develop myself. I will definitely stay canon but I want to add a character rather than adding details to female characters like the Patils, etc. My goal is to finish the first book and hopefully do the whole series!Of course, I do not own any of these characters (though I do fill in some unknown details with my thoughts on what they should be) and I am not Jo Rowling, though I really wish I was.Please give me feedback because I really do not know what I am doing (when it comes to writing fanfics)! Any feedback is great! Thank you so much for reading :)Much love





	Hermione's First Year

On a warm summer’s morning, the sun began to rise on a new day. On this particular day, the sunrise was particularly pretty and had a bit of a magical quality to it. The sun that awoke today decided to have some fun and do a little dance, glinting and peeking its beautiful rays through the trees lining the horizon of Knightsbridge. Opposite to this this little jig stood a row of beautifully ornate, yet wonderfully ordinary, terraced houses glowing in the soaking morning’s sun.

This particular sunrise on this particular day decided to dance right through the trees to rest on a particular house, specifically, a particular window.

Behind this window the sun greeted a little girl, not angrily awaking her (as it would have if it would’ve danced into any other window, mainly due to the fact that it was seven in the morning on a Saturday in late July), but giving her a gleeful peck on the cheek, for she has been awake for quite some time. This particular girl sitting on this particular windowsill in this particular house on this particular street in Knightsbridge, London was, some have called her, peculiar.

Peculiar may not be the correct word, for she was not horribly odd in the way that the word usually implies. She was more on the side of extraordinary, though if you looked at the little girl hidden behind a curtain of bushy hair, you would not see this.

The average viewer of Hermione Granger would see a small girl (though she carried herself rather confidently) with big brown eyes that always seemed to be curiously wandering about wherever its owner may be, taking in every detail. Her two most prominent features, much to her dislike (though she tried her very best not to show it), were her bushy brown hair that had a nasty habit of inviting itself to block her vision at the slightest movement of her head and her two rather large front teeth that seemed to be the first thing that greeted most people. Hermione had an aura that that simply radiated knowledge and understanding, something not commonly found in (or accepted by) the average child of her age.

While all of this may be the typical judgements of Hermione Granger, today she looked like a normal girl that was so deep in her thoughts that nothing would be able to reel her out.

Hermione was sitting on her windowsill looking out at the beautiful dancing sun thinking about, rather, worrying about, the start of the new term. She would be turning eleven this year, marking the end of her education at Workshire Primary School and the beginning of her education at Berkworth Secondary School. Hermione was quite nervous about starting at Berkworth because her experience at Workshire, at least the non-academic pieces, wasn’t what most people would describe as pleasant and she knew that it would only get worse as she got older. At Workshire, she was not particularly popular. While she does not consider popularity a goal of hers (quite frankly, she finds it to be a rather stupid concept), she does admit to herself that some things would be a lot easier if she was popular, or at least accepted.

Over the course of her previous schooling, she had come to the realization that, to her great displeasure, other children did not not typically want to be friends with (or associated with at all) brainy girls like herself. In primary school, Hermione’s hand was always the first (and most times, only) to shoot up whenever a teacher prompted the class with a question or problem. The combination of this and her habit of correcting anyone within earshot (which, in her opinion, was a favor, as they would not continue their conversation with incorrect facts) lead to the nasty result of being friendless. Hermione guesses that she is not _entirely_ friendless, for she does have her parents (a fact in which they reminded her of after the countless days that she came home upset after another lonely day at school), but that is not always comforting to an eleven year old schoolgirl.

Hermione’s parents were dentists at a place down the road and overall pretty ordinary people. Her mother was a rather fit woman, for she had been running her entire life, including on her university team and professionally until Hermione was born. One of her greatest passions, other than running, was trying to convince Hermione to run _with_ her, typically resulting in the only rows that the two ever shared. While Hermione often times obliged for the sake of avoiding a row with her mum, she could not care less about participating in any kind of sport or physical activity. This fact was a “dagger to the heart” as her football-obsessed father had many times joked to her. He and her mum secretly hoped that she would find her passion to be sports but had not discovered it yet considering how young she was. Though at the end of the (many) sports-oriented discussions in which Hermione did not show the slightest of interest in, her parents always assured her that they didn’t _really_ care what she did, as long as she was happy.

And Hermione knew exactly what made her happy: _reading_. Ever since she was a young child, she had had a passion for reading any book that she could get her hands on, soaking up as much knowledge about every topic as possible. She loved non-fiction because, in her opinion, knowledge about the world that she lived in was about the most useful thing that she could possibly possess. She especially loved fantasy novels because they let her escape from the thoughts of loneliness and not belonging that inhabited her mind in this world and fly away to lands that filled her mind with magically mystifying happiness.

Hermione never really felt like she belonged anywhere (other than in the magical worlds that occupied space only on a page) and it did not make things any better that strange things often happened around her, things that she could not explain.

One time, when a little girl with perfect blonde plaits and her friends were making fun of Hermione’s hair, the bullies’ hair slowly began to expand into a bushy, frizzy mess resembling that of Hermione’s. The mean blonde girl yelped with a mixture of fury and embarrassment and ran to tell the headmistress but, when Hermione was called to her office for questioning, she could not explain what had happened, nor could anyone else.

Another time when a boy was making fun of Hermione for reading the pages that the teacher had assigned, the boy lifted his head from the book that it was resting on (which happened to be what he was supposed to have been reading) to find that the words from the pages had been perfectly transferred to his face.

Hermione heard her mother calling her down stairs for breakfast and awokewith a start from her worry filled daydream.

As Hermione made her way down the stairs, eyes unfocused due to her still worry-filled thoughts, she tripped on the fifth to last step and took a nice little tumble, falling to the bottom and landing on top of a large pair of occupied slippers. She looked up, night gown twisted and hair tousled, to see her father beaming down at her.

“Good morning, Clumsy. Where’s Hermione?,” he said with a giggle.

“Sorry, dad. I wasn’t looking where I was going,” Hermione explained in a distant voice.

“I see. Mum’s got some toast ready for you.”

After he picked her up off the ground (“I can do it myself, dad!”), Hermione followed her father to the table and sat down between her parents, her back to the large window that faced the now semi-populated, still glowing street.

“Good Morning, mum,” Hermione said while preparing her toast with blackberry jam.

“Top of the morning to ya, love!” Mrs. Granger said with a laugh, trying to cheer up her obviously worried daughter. “Good dreams last night?”

Hermione just shrugged, still staring aimlessly at her toast. Her parents knew that she was worried about the start of term and had decided to not bring it up unless Hermione did, in which they would try to be as encouraging as possible.

“So the weather is supposed to be beauti——“ started Mr. Granger but was interrupted by fumbling outside that sounded like someone attempting to ring the doorbell until the unknown visitor gave in and knocked politely.

“Who could be wanting a visit this early?” Mrs. Granger wondered aloud as she rose from her chair and made her way to the front door that was just around the corner from the kitchen.

Mrs. Granger looked back at Hermione, who had followed her mother and was now peeking around the corner to try and steal a look at the visitor, and made a silly face at her that said something like “I have no clue” before opening the door to see a woman glowing in the dancing sun that looked as though she had never made a silly face in her life.

The rather severe looking woman with square shaped spectacles resting on the very tip of her nose had her black hair pulled tightly into a bun and was wearing a quite odd looking dress. The two women stared at each other for a moment, Mrs. Granger wearing a look of friendly bewilderment and the other a matter-of-fact, yet excited, face.

The stranger out stretched a hand to Mrs. Granger and confidently said “Hello. I am Professor McGonagall. Is this the residence of Ms. Hermione Jean Granger?”


End file.
